


Renunciation

by trollmela



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-28
Updated: 2015-03-28
Packaged: 2018-03-20 03:13:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3634509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trollmela/pseuds/trollmela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Legolas abandons his father's name.<br/>After the Battle of Five Armies, Legolas goes to find the ranger Thranduil told him of. On the way, he stops in Rivendell for some much needed rest, where Elrond is better at talking to him than Thranduil.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Renunciation

**Author's Note:**

> This story was again inspired by Aragorn's introduction of Legolas in the Lord of the Rings movies, where he introduces him to Éomer as "Legolas of the woodland realm". Did Aragorn keep Legolas' status as a prince a secret for a particular reason, for instance, because he thought it would be safer? Or did Legolas not wish to be called a prince for some other reason? The other scene that inspired this was, of course, Legolas' leave-taking in the last Hobbit movie, and Thranduil, who seemed to have a gift for saying the wrong things to his son.

Legolas left the battle field in anger. It was all he seemed to be capable of feeling: anger at his father, anger at Tauriel; anger at her dwarf; anger at the rest of his stone-headed kin; anger at himself.

He did not go north immediately, as his father had suggested. He crossed the mountains westward and turned onto the road to Rivendell. He cleaned his armor on the way at a creek, wiping away the dried red and black blood from the battle; he needn’t disgrace himself in front of Lord Elrond, no matter how turbulent and violent his mind was. With that thought, he stripped and bathed as well, introducing yet more red into the water, unbraided his hair and washed out the dirt; his trusted knife was strapped to his bare thigh and his hand went there as often as his eyes scanned his surroundings. Being on his guard was too much in his blood, and, for good reason, woodelves rarely ventured out on missions alone. The violence of the battle was still deep within him and kept him awake through more nights than he usually went without sleep.

By the time he arrived at the Last Homely house, he had slept maybe five nights since leaving, but his features betrayed nothing of his raging mind. He did not realize that in this he was very much like his father, but to Lord Elrond it was immediately, regretfully evident.

“Be welcome, Legolas Thranduillion,” Lord Elrond greeted him in the valley, his posture and eyes serene, but very sharp.

“Just Legolas, if you would, Lord Elrond,” Legolas replied.

Elrond’s expression did not change, but his young assistant looked shocked, then chagrined at his own lack of control.

Elrond only gave a nod. “Legolas then. Come, Rivendell welcomes you.”

The rooms Legolas received were impeccable, calm, and beautiful. They were above ground, which Legolas was glad for, yet at the same time resented. The Noldor had enjoyed good fortune for centuries now, and also the Silvan elves in the Golden Wood; those in the Greenwood carried the burden of Middle-earth’s darkness. He forced himself to dismiss those thoughts; they served nothing, after all, but to increase resentment on both sides. As if the Valar sensed his need for distraction and a soothing presence, a messenger knocked on his door to invite him to have lunch with Lord Elrond. It was a late lunch for the half-elf, and Legolas was grateful, and honored, that it was just the two of them.

“News has not yet reached us on how the Quest for Erebor ended. Will you tell us?” Lord Elrond asked.

“The Dwarves recaptured Erebor, but Thorin and his sister sons lie dead; the dragon was slain by Bard of Laketown. The town has been destroyed by Smaug and the battle that followed. An army of orcs came down from the mountains, led by Azog and Bolg, and their numbers were so large as has not been seen for a long time.”

Elrond noted the elf’s detachment, which was uncharacteristic for Legolas, but much in line with his father’s character. As much as he would like to spare Legolas retelling the entire story, the battle he spoke of was unexpected, although it did explain why the White Council had not been met with much resistance from orcs at Dol Guldur.

Elrond frowned. “You bring grave tidings, although I confess that not all of it is unexpected. Tell me in detail now of what happened.”

“If you tell me the tale of your trip that only recently brought you back to Imladris.”

Elrond smiled at the Prince’s cunningness. “Very well.”

Legolas told him all of what he had seen, or what he knew of what happened. At the end, Elrond remarked:

“It was clear to me that Thorin Oakenshield’s quest was dangerous, and that his death and that of his companions was a very likely outcome. Gandalf had a hand in beginning this journey, and I understand his reasoning. In a war with the orcs, the worst thing that could have happened in the east was for a dragon to take sides with them. That is now no longer a threat.”

“I thought that this was a possible reason why he supported the quest, but we did not guess at his involvement until he came to Erebor before battle between us and the dwarves might break out. I wonder where he was when the dwarves entered our woods, and I think you know.”

Elrond frowned. “You’re right, I do know. It had come to the White Council’s attention that Dol Guldur might not be inhabited by a mere human necromancer after all.”

“The elves of Greenwood have long suspected so.”

“Did they?” Elrond bore his gaze into Legolas’ eyes. “If so, Thranduil neglected to tell us.”

Legolas leant back in his chair and returned Elrond’s look unflinchingly. “From what I understand, the Council was long disinclined to believe such a thing.”

If anything, Elrond’s frown deepened. “So it was. That necromancer turned out to be Sauron himself.” Elrond paused; were he a Silvan, Legolas would say he was waiting to see if he would drop dead on the spot for having spoken the name of the master of darkness. “We, the Lady Galadriel, the three wizards and I, managed to evict him from that fortress. But it will likely remain uninhabitable.”

“That area was lost long ago. We have neither the numbers to keep it, nor need for it. But if the Enemy was merely evicted, he was not defeated.”

“No, indeed, he was not. I’m afraid that just this battle of magic took the strength of many, nearly draining it even. We cannot win against him in this way. He has likely fled to Mordor.”

“Good. He can remain there,” Legolas said darkly.

“Good? No, far from good, as Mordor is far less penetrable than Dol Guldur was. He will gain power and forces, and in a century, perhaps even in a few decades, we will once more be on the brink of war.”

“So what do you propose to do instead?” Legolas asked, nearly irritated by now by all this talk of gloom.

Elrond rose. He, too, was agitated.

“There is nothing I _can_ propose. We must wait and hope that the One Ring comes to _us_ instead of to _him_. And then we may destroy it.”

“In Mordor. Where he has just reinstalled himself.”

The Lord of Rivendell swung around to face him in mid-step, his eyebrows drawn together so far they nearly formed one single line.

“Otherwise our road lies West, and we abandon the dwarves, men, and hobbits to their fate.”

Legolas looked away. He regretted that he had allowed himself be drawn into this argument.

“Not all elves desire to go there. Most in the Greenwood do not.” 

This time, Elrond did not reply, choosing to gaze out at the hills surrounding Imladris instead, his hands clasped behind his back.

“How was your home and your King when you left them?”

Legolas nipped at his cup of miruver. The potent drink had thankfully already helped him regain some of his strength that the battle and the journey had nearly sapped.

“We lost many. Were it not for those losses, I might counsel my king to take advantage of the hour and lead an assault against the spiders; they have become too many recently, and even the main path is no longer wholly safe. Dol Guldur gave them strength.”

“I’m sure he already knows. But in case he does not, you may send him a letter from here. Or I will do so myself.”

“I suggest you write to him then, Lord, as you doubtlessly have more to tell him than I. Certainly he and our warriors will all have returned to the woods by now, the wounded included.”

Elrond looked at him sharply. “You left before them?”

The younger elf looked down at the table and absently traced the lines of the wood it was made of.

“My king gave me a mission: I’m to find a ranger of the north by the name of Strider. I assume he is one of the Dúnedain and that you know him. The north is a vast and perilous land, although most evil creatures were probably summoned to the battle at Erebor. Still, I would have your guidance, if you are willing.”

Even if Lord Elrond did not understand why that would require the prince to make such haste as to leave the field of battle immediately, he did not comment.

“You will have it, Legolas. For your travels to the north, and for anything else you may have need of.”

For the first time, Legolas thought to be able to look past the half-elf’s elvish features that were hard to read and see honest concern in his eyes. He bowed his head a fraction with gratitude.

“Thank you.”

Legolas shied from taking the Lord up on his implied offer, but he would not dismiss it out of hand. He took his rest in Imladris first, taking advantage of the hot springs for his bodily comfort, and meditating at the height of the rocks to calm his mind. Even if he had no desire to be influenced by any foreign magic, Imladris was hard to resist, and it calmed his thoughts. He forgave Tauriel for falling for a mortal and a dwarf at that and thought of sending her a letter. His desire for her, born from admiration and the pleasure of finding one he considered to be his equal, would wane he now understood. He wished that she would not leave Middle-earth, but perhaps also find within herself that she might love another, or at least not suffer from the loss more than she could bear.

He found it harder to forgive the dwarf for dying, impossible even, so that he finally simply made peace with the fact that he would never be at amiable terms with dwarves. It was not as if this was a novel situation between elves and dwarves anyhow, so that the loss would not be a great one.

When he did not meditate or bath, he cleaned and sharpened his weapons, and practiced what had been drilled into him at a young age to be able to stand against the darkness and evil. He did so alone until Lord Glorfindel returned to Rivendell from the Havens, found him and challenged him to increase his battle skills.

The prince also took the opportunity to get to know Imladris further; the realm had many hidden secrets, and he would be satisfied to leave knowing a few more of them even in the knowledge that only its founder would ever know all. He found one such secret in the hall where the broken shards of Narsil lay, in another sword which was intact, long and very old, but still as functional as it had probably been in the First Age. Lord Glorfindel, who had walked with him, acknowledged the sword with a cool gaze.

“It was Prince Maitimo’s, son of Fëanáro,” he said.

Legolas was surprised. “And Elrond displays it so openly?”

“What would happen? Try breaking it, and you will be more likely to break your hand. Some say that it was enchanted to be wielded by none but its original owner; any attempt by another would be met with injury or even death. But that aside, you would be surprised by how often it is overlooked next to Narsil. Few know of this sword’s origins, and it looks like any other except to those who recognize its true quality.”

“Did you ever see it wielded by its owner?”

“Yes, I did.”

Legolas would have very much liked to know where Glorfindel had seen it, but as Glorfindel did not elaborate, Legolas did not inquire. Legolas never asked Elrond about it either.

Bilbo Baggins arrived in Rivendell with Gandalf as his guide and companion, and the hobbit enjoyed Rivendell’s hospitality at least as much as Legolas. The two also had opportunity to know one another better, and Legolas found himself admiring the hobbit as one exceptional for his race and, perhaps, any other. But Bilbo was homesick and left before Legolas did. The woodelf had not forgotten his errant, but it was not an urgent quest, and for a while he thought that his prolonged stay in Rivendell was a small show of defiance toward his father.

Legolas still had lunches with Elrond every so often, and one day, the prince found himself confessing:

“I couldn’t stay after the battle.”

“Why not?” Elrond enquired neutrally.

“I disagreed with my king. I lost brothers. I lost hope of ever seeing affection in the eyes of the elleth I admired, and instead witnessed her pain over a mortal’s death. So the King gave me a meaningless mission that would take me away. Now I believe that he may even have thought I might stop in Imladris and hoped that it would soothe my anger.”

“Has it?”

Slowly, Legolas nodded. “It has, even when I did not welcome it.”

“That is good. He gave you a purpose to guide you because he cares for you. And your mission might not be as meaningless as you think it is now.”

“Do you know of any specific purpose?”

“To be honest, no. I know who the man you seek is, but I think you should find that out yourself. Thranduil is wise; perhaps not as wise in matters of the heart and in showing his son his love as he is knowledgeable in politics.”

“Showing his love?” Were Legolas any less in control of himself, he might have snorted. “After the battle, he told me that my mother loved me as if he could not say it of himself.”

Lord Elrond’s jaw tightened briefly, and he sighed mentally. Even Bilbo Baggins had seen the good in Thranduil, but his own son was barred from doing the same.

“And you would call him wise?” Legolas continued before Lord Elrond had a chance to think of something in defense of the elven king. “I know what the Noldor say about us.”

“Relations between the Noldor and the Sindar or Silvan haven’t always been the best. Unfortunately, such things linger. I would not have them linger between us.”

Legolas nodded. “Neither would I. The sword of Maedhros might still be in this home, but he himself is not. The elves must stand together more than ever to face the future.”

The half-elf took his hand and squeezed it amiably. Perhaps he should send a letter to King Thranduil and attempt to make the king see that he needed to invest more emotion and time in his relationship with Legolas; all without stating this outright and offending him, of course. He sighed to himself at the hours he would need to spend on crafting such a letter.

 

Legolas finally left Rivendell a full month later. Lord Elrond had shown him on maps which path to take, and Legolas followed it until he came upon the rangers.

“I’m Legolas,” he introduced himself to their young leader.

“Just Legolas? You don’t appear to be from Rivendell. From the Greenwood perhaps?”

He nodded. “I am.” When he added nothing more, Strider declared:

“Legolas of the woodland realm, then.”

**Author's Note:**

> Maitimo, also known as Maedhros or Nelyafinwë, son of Fëanor (Fëanáro) is an elven character from the Silmarillion. His family killed many elves, some of whom were related to the Sindar, for which they are understandably angry about. For that reason, displaying the sword could be taken as an insult. Maedhros and his brother Maglor raised Elrond after kidnapping him. Despite that less than promising start, according to Tolkien, their little patchwork family grew to love each other. At the end of the First Age, Elrond and his brother Elros were freed, Maedhros killed himself and Maglor disappeared, never to be seen again outside of fanfiction.


End file.
